Onward
by randomwriting
Summary: It takes small steps and faith in the journey to move a heart forward. Sequel to: The Color of Lilacs. SC


Onward

Disclaimer: CBS, creators, producers, etc., own all recognizable characters, not me; I'm just borrowing them.

AN: Sequel to: The Color of Lilacs. Written for the MiamiFicTalk challenge.

Onward

Something wasn't right, but in this half conscious state he couldn't identify it. Partly awake, shaking off the last vestiges of sleep, Tim rolled towards the middle of the bed, feeling nothing but an empty, cool space where a warm body should've been tucked into his side. The sounds of retching coming from the bathroom snapped him to attention. Grabbing his sweats from a pile of discarded clothing on the floor, he was on his feet and standing outside the closed door in a heartbeat.

"Cal, you okay?" he asked in a hoarse whisper. "You need anything?"

"I'm okay. You can come on in," she answered with slight hesitation.

He found her sitting on the floor, next to the toilet and slumped against the tub. "What's wrong, baby?" he asked with concern, raising his eyebrows at her marked pallor.

"I'm okay, Tim," she answered, sitting up straighter. "Honest," she emphasized. She let go of the hair she'd gathered in her fist, allowing it to fall in soft waves around her face.

"Okay usually isn't sitting on the bathroom floor at the crack of dawn," he said, stifling a yawn. "What's wrong?" he asked again, this time with a slight urgency tingeing his voice.

"It isn't the crack of dawn, it only feels like it cause you worked late and got to bed late," she said, deflecting his question. "I'm sorry I woke you, but don't worry, it's all good." She met his look of doubt with a hopeful smile. But not just any smile, this was the kind that put sparkles in her eyes and lit up her face like the Fourth of July. The kind of smile he'd not seen in a long time, thirteen months and twenty-seven days to be exact.

Instead of returning her smile with anything resembling a smile of his own, his brow drew together as he shot her a questioning look. "What's all good?" he asked with growing impatience. Her smile faded and her skin paled even more as she self-consciously lowered her gaze to her lap. "Cal, what's going on?" he asked as he crouched in front of her and lifted her chin with his fingertips. "Wait, you don't mean…" Leaving the unfinished question hanging in the air between them, he dropped his hand and stood abruptly, irritably shifting his weight back and forth. His stomach flipped over, bringing about his own bout of nausea as realization dawned slowly.

She dropped her eyes from his probing gaze. "Tim, I didn't know. I mean, I did, on some level, but I didn't, not for sure, not until this morning, that is," she rambled, shaking her lowered head.

"You're sure now?" he asked flatly. Nodding slightly, she looked up, sending a furtive glance in the direction of the vanity before lowering her lids, but he didn't need to follow her line of sight to know what lay on the counter. And he didn't need a closer look to confirm what he'd been too blind to see, even though it had been right in front of his eyes. Instead, he exhaled loudly and began pacing the small room like a caged animal as the walls closed in around him. Silently berating himself, he wondered how he could've missed the subtle changes in her, changes that should have been obvious to him, of all people. He'd noticed her recent preoccupation, but had convinced himself it was over a case she'd been struggling with. _Never_ did he consider_ this _to be a possibility. "It's too soon," he said after an interminable tense silence. "We said _maybe_," he continued, emphasizing the last word. "Maybe, Calleigh. Maybe sometime, sometime in the future, not sometime now," he stressed as his eyes bored into hers. "We said we'd talk about it when we were ready. And I'm not ready."

"I know we did," she said, meeting his intense gaze. "I didn't plan this," she said without a touch of defensiveness. "It just… happened. Like the last time," she added in a voice so soft he can barely hear her over his own pounding heart. "Last time was just as unexpected, but we were overjoyed."

"Calleigh," he began, but the thought went nowhere. Instead he rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet unable to look her in the eye. This isn't happening, he tried to tell himself.

"I know how you feel," she began hesitantly, pulling him from his thoughts. "It took me by surprise as well," she sighed, hugging her arms tightly across her chest. "I'm sorry to spring it on you, like this," she said, gesturing to the toilet to make her point. "It's not what I intended."

"You never said a thing," he said with a hint of bitterness as his head wrapped around the fact that she'd knowingly kept this from him.

"Tim, please try to understand, this was the farthest thing from my mind. I made up excuses. I ignored the possibility for as long as I could. But even then, I didn't believe it. And I didn't…" She stopped, letting the unfinished thought drift and breathed deeply. Lowering her head, she placed, a tentative hand over her stomach before looking back up and meeting his eyes. "I just wanted to sit with the possibility for a few days. I didn't know how I was supposed to feel. How I was allowed to feel," she said in a voice wracked with pain and guilt. She stared into his eyes, as if searching for something to grab onto, something only he could give her. He held her gaze, but whatever vision he had was clouded with pain he couldn't see past. Whatever she needed from him, he couldn't give her. And that was a failing that would haunt him for a long time coming. Torn, he dropped her gaze.

"We buried a child, Calleigh," he said in a voice heavy with anguish. "That's not something I can go through again. _We_ can't go through that again. I'm not willing to take that risk," he said roughly, letting his voice trail. His eyes darted frantically around the small room, lighting anywhere but on his wife, _his pregnant wife_.

"I know that, Tim. Do you honestly think that a minute goes by that I don't relive that day? That I don't think about her? That I don't miss her?" Her voice was shrill and raw, her every word measured and filled with a sorrow that ripped his heart to shreds, but her control was unwavering. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, but unshed they would remain. He forced himself to look at her, to meet her eyes, to face her anguish head on.

"I know you do. We both do." His voice sounded tired and worn, like the words had taken an especially heavy toll. Easing beside her, he took a seat on the floor, careful to leave space between them. The tub was hard and cold against his naked back, but he made no attempt to lessen his discomfort. Next to him, she stiffened, hugging her arms even tighter. "But I don't think we're ready," he said, fearing as he heard the words aloud that he might never be ready.

Every household noise was magnified in the stiff, heavy silence that hung over them in the small room. Creaks, drips, and the whir from the ceiling fan pierced the quiet, creating a cacophony of irritating sounds. The growing tension was unnerving, but neither made a move towards the other. His knee jiggled erratically and his fingers twitched, while next to him, she sat unmoving save for the slight rise and fall of her chest. "If we're waiting for the pain to lessen, to stop missing her, then I don't imagine we ever will be," she said.

The words startled him, pulling him from the indiscriminate thoughts flitting across his mind. Her voice, clear and flat, held an odd note of resignation he'd not detected earlier. Carefully, he considered his response, but there was nothing he could say, nothing she wanted to hear, anyway. Drawing in a sharp breath, he nodded, a slight, almost imperceptible movement. That the pain would never lessen enough to ever be tucked away as a distant heartbreaking memory was one of the few certainties in his life, but he couldn't say the words out loud.

"Tim," she said softly. Swiveling his upper body, he moved away from the tub to face her. "In here," she said, placing one hand across her heart, "I'm still a mother. That feeling doesn't go away, no matter how much time passes. But out here," she gestured this time with her arms spread out in front. "There's just nothing." Her voice caught on the last word as the struggle to maintain her composure played out on her face. "And that feeling never goes away, never. But now," she started before he cut her off mid-sentence.

"Calleigh, we can't just replace her," he said with a harshness that came from his darkest depths. The words had barely left his lips when she lunged for the toilet, emptying her stomach of what little contents remained. This time he was behind her, holding her hair off her face with one hand and gently rubbing her back with his other. It no longer mattered what he told himself, or how much time he needed, this was really happening, like it or not.

She settled back against the tub and closed her eyes while he grabbed her a wet face cloth. "Thanks," she murmured.

"You okay?" he asked, once more concerned by her marked pallor. She nodded. "Can I get you anything?" he asked, eyeing her from under an arched brow. Her only response was a slight shake of her head. Sitting up abruptly, she stared at him with glazed eyes. "I would never," she began in a choked voice.

"Calleigh, I didn't mean," he said at the same time. "I'm sorry," he said with a heavy heart.

"I'm tired," she announced and one look at her heavy lidded eyes confirmed that claim.

"You should lie down for awhile, try to get some sleep, it's still early," he rambled, grateful for the reprieve as he helped her off the floor. "Are you sure I can't get you anything?" he asked, racking his brain trying to remember what worked last time. Last time… the words alone were enough to stop him in his tracks, sending a cold sweat down his back.

"What about you?" she asked, snapping him back to the present.

"Guess I'll head into work and try to catch up on some paperwork," he shrugged, having no idea at all what he would do, only that he needed to get out before the walls completely closed in on him.

"But you're off," she puzzled, giving him a questioning look.

"Yeah, but I should try to get caught up," he persisted, knowing she saw his excuse for exactly what it was.

"Fine," she said dismissively as she headed into the bedroom.

"Cal, we'll get through this," he said with a slight note of desperation he couldn't mask.

She spun around, drew a deep breath and lifted her chin. "This isn't something we _get through,_ Tim, it's our baby," she said defiantly. Their eyes met, but he quickly dropped her gaze, unwilling to acknowledge the cold disappointment he saw there. He didn't answer, simply watched as she turned on her heels and retreated to the bedroom.

Since he was awake and already in the bathroom, he turned the shower to scalding hot and climbed in. The spray bounced off his skin like poker hot needles, effectively taking his mind off everything else. After brushing his teeth and hastily running a hand through his unruly locks, he finished up in the bathroom and padded into the bedroom. Unsure if she was asleep or merely feigning sleep to avoid any more dealings with him, he dressed quickly and quietly, grabbing whatever was close and clean.

Creeping over to the bed, he studied the rhythm of her breathing and determined that she was, indeed, truly asleep. Bending over her, he pushed a lock of hair off her face and pressed a chaste kiss on her cheek. She didn't respond except to burrow deeper into the pillow, but even that brief contact improved his dark mood. For a moment, he considered climbing back under the covers with her, but thought better of the idea and silently made his exit. He needed to think and he couldn't do that here.

It was early enough that traffic on the causeway was light. Even his favorite coffee stop wasn't crowded on this slightly overcast, muggy Saturday morning. Waiting to pay, he contemplated the bagels displayed in the glass case, but although he was tempted, black coffee was all he had the stomach for. Cup in hand, he headed back to the car. With traffic this light, he'd be at his destination in just a few minutes. The benefit of choosing a locale close to home, he thought bitterly.

The drive was one he was well acquainted with. Yet unlike the drive to the crime lab, which he was certain he could flawlessly navigate in his sleep, and likely had on more than one occasion, this drive required his utmost attention. He was certain one of these days, if he wasn't paying close enough attention, his unconscious self would have him simply drive off, never to be seen again. Although an undeniable option to waking up here and facing another day of unrelenting heartache, without his wife by his side, he'd simply be trading one version of hell for another. Either way, it didn't matter where he found himself because there would be no escaping this hell of dulled, but never deadened pain. At least in this current version, Calleigh kept him from closing up completely. With that in mind, he focused on the drive, careful not to let his mind wander to the darker corners.

His visits to his little girl were frequent, but brief. Unless he was here with Calleigh, he stayed only a few restless minutes, just long enough to see that all was exactly as it should be. It was all he could do for her now. No longer could he scoop her into his arms, kiss away boo boos, or check for monsters in the closet. No longer did he read endless bedtime stories, chase butterflies or hold a tiny hand in his. His role as a father was complete, save for silently watching over her.

Tim rarely spoke aloud during these visits, preferring instead to leave the talking to Calleigh; she was more comfortable with that sort of thing. His only need was for his baby girl to know he was still looking over her, still loving her, still and always, her father. His last vestiges of faith were precarious at best, but he steadfastly held on to the belief that somehow she'd know. It was all he had to hang onto.

He wished he felt the same calm Calleigh felt when she visited. Instead of finding tranquility the way she did, he found himself jittery and more unsettled than usual. And today was even worse. Calleigh's unanticipated announcement this morning left him reeling. His fierce resistance to the idea of another child stunned both of them. But it wasn't always that way. There was a time when they'd talked eagerly about adding to their little family one day. There was no question then that they'd welcome another baby with open arms.

But that was before. Before their happy life had been extinguished in the span of seventy-two hours. Before their family of three had reverted back to a family of two in the blink of an eye. Before life had sent them headlong on a journey through unrelenting heartache. Before a large part of his heart was buried in this very spot on an unusually chilly morning, under a steel gray sky, thirteen months and twenty-seven days earlier.

And now?

That was the question he was desperate to answer. Restlessly shifting his weight back and forth, he chuckled at the irony that his resistance and inability to deal with the news that he was once again going to be a father brought him to the one place where he still felt like one. The answer he needed was inside him all along. With one hand atop the cool marble, he bid a whispered _I love you _before heading for home. Here, he was a father, still and always. And now he would be again.

Whatever paperwork he imagined catching up on today would have to wait. Right now he had a wife to get home to, a wife without whom he'd never have gotten through the past year. But first, he had a stop to make. He wouldn't be walking through the door empty handed.

A glance at his watch confirmed that his quick errand had taken far longer than it should have, all thanks to people who brought more than ten items to the ten items or less line. That really ought to be a punishable offense, he thought irritably, anxious to get on his way.

The house was quiet when he walked in, but the teacup he'd left out for her was missing. He found her in the living room, sitting on the couch with her legs tucked underneath her, staring out the window. The teacup was on coffee table in front of her, still steaming and essentially untouched. "Hey," he greeted softly, wondering if she'd heard him come in.

She turned to him, offering a small smile and a greeting of her own. Joining her on the couch, he sat his bag down on the rug and kissed her lightly. "You feeling okay?" he asked, noting the extra sleep did little to erase the dark circles. But what concerned him more was the dull look in her eyes. That glimmer of hope she'd surprised him with earlier was but a distant memory, beaten down by a guilt she didn't deserve to carry.

"I'm fine," she said, turning her attention to the cup on the table. "I made some tea. Thought I should give it a try, at least," she shrugged.

"Can't eat anything?" he asked despite already knowing the answer. She shook her head. "Yeah, I figured as much. I stopped at the store, picked you up a few things," he said, reaching into the bag he'd left by his feet. "Want one, or maybe a dozen?" he asked with a chuckle as he placed four boxes of assorted crackers on the coffee table. She laughed easily, and eagerly held out her hand while he wrestled with the packaging. "I also got you some of these," he said after putting the box down. Reaching once more into the bag, he held out a bag of lemon drops. "I got lemon ice pops and lemon tea, as well," he said proudly.

"What? No lemons?" she asked with a barely suppressed giggle as she nibbled on her cracker.

"C'mon Cal, you know me better than that," he teased. "I remembered the lemons," he said with mock exasperation. He held up the bag to reveal the bulging lemons at the bottom. "I may have had to wrack my brain a bit, it was early after all, so I deserve some slack, but I remembered what helped you the last time."

"Thank you," she said softly. Her smile faded slightly, enough to affirm that their thoughts had drifted down the same path. "I didn't expect you home so soon," she said, swiftly changing the subject.

He inhaled deeply and exhaled loudly. "Yeah, well, I never made it to the lab. I just needed time to think," he said, answering her questioning look. A look of recognition washed over her and she inclined her head in a small gesture. Perhaps his frequent solo visits hadn't been as far under the radar as he'd thought they were. He sighed again, she knew him better than he sometimes gave her credit for.

"Are you okay?" she asked, wearing an expression of uncertainty.

"Yeah, I am," he sighed. "I go out there a lot. A lot more than I tell you," he said, all but tripping over the words as he tried to get them out.

"I know," she said softly. He raised his brows inquiringly, but didn't ask what had given him away.

"I can't explain it, but I need to keep checking on her… on her grave. I guess to make sure everything there is okay." He didn't dare catch her eye, afraid if he did, he'd never get through this. "I don't stay very long, sometimes just a few minutes. I check on things, think a little bit and leave." He stopped, inhaling deeply before continuing. "I never think about why I go so often, and I don't know why I keep it from you," he shrugged. "But this morning, what you said about still feeling like you were a mother? I think maybe that's what it is. I'm still her father and I don't know how else to do that anymore, except to keep checking on her…" Her hand came to rest on his jiggling knee and he tilted his head towards her. "It's like you said, that feeling never goes away. You just struggle with what to do with it. We buried our daughter, but not our connection to her, not our love for her."

"No, not our love," she said reassuringly. "It's okay, Tim, it's what you need to do. You don't have to explain yourself, to me, or anyone. You're her daddy and you look out for her, even now." Her eyes shimmered with the tears she waged a near constant battle against, but her inner strength shone through as she put aside her own heartbreak to help him through his. Grabbing the hand that rested on his knee, he squeezed it reassuringly. His love for her revealed itself to him on a daily basis, but never more so than it did right now.

"I love you, Calleigh. Loving you and knowing you love me is what gets me through every day." Gently, he placed his hand on her still flat stomach. "And out of that love, we got this."

"We did," she smiled and topped his hand with hers. "You're okay with this?" she asked hesitantly. She was studying his eyes intently, looking for the truth he couldn't hide from her.

"Yeah, I am," he answered, meeting her gaze and giving her the tiniest hint of a smile. "I admit I'm scared, but I don't think that'll ever go away."

"I'm scared, too," she nodded. She scooted up next to him and he folded her into his arms, holding her tightly. "I'm afraid of letting go, of loving this baby as much…"

Releasing his hold, he held her in front of him with his hands on her shoulders. "Don't be," he reassured. Cupping her cheek, he gently caressed the tender skin with the pad of his thumb. "Cause I really don't think that's going to be a problem," he said as a smile tugged on the corner of his lips. "You already do, Cal. You've loved and wanted this baby from the start. I could see it your eyes this morning and I see it now." He understood now how much she'd been struggling with her conflicting emotions, and what she ultimately needed from him. With a certainty that came from deep within his heart, he could give it to her now. "You are allowed to be happy about the baby. We both are."

"It's so hard. I just miss her so much…" Her voice drifted and her eyes took on a momentary far away gaze. Abruptly, she turned her attention back to him and spoke with an urgency he found jarring. "But Tim, no baby could ever …"

"Shh, don't," he said, raising a finger to her lips, knowing what she was about to say before she said it. _We can't replace her_. Those words had cut deep. "She'll always be part of us. That'll never change. I'm sorry I said what I did."

Pursing her lips, she shook her head, cutting him off. "But I was thinking the same thing," she said in an unsteady voice. "That's why I was so torn."

"Don't be. We have enough love for another child."

"We do, I believe that. And I am happy about this baby," she admitted with a contented smile.

"I'm sorry about this morning," he sighed, dropping his head. "All I could think about was going through that again, of seeing you hurt. That's what I was reacting to. It wasn't that I didn't want the baby."

"I know that, really, I do. I feel the same way." Leaning into him, she met his lips in a gentle kiss that conveyed more in its brief caress than any words ever could.

"It'll be nice to have a little one around here," he said, feeling his first genuine surge of anticipation.

"It will," she sighed happily. I've struggled trying to come to terms with this over the past few days. And the only thing I'm certain of is that there's no magic moment, no right time when it hurts less and we're no longer afraid. There are just these small steps we take together, just as we have from the beginning. And the occasional really big step," she said laughing, placing her hand over her stomach.

He couldn't help but smile at the expression of pure delight she wore. Small steps, along with the occasional big step, kept them moving onward, but it was love that made the journey possible. "Then here's to big and small steps," he said, celebrating their good fortune with a searing kiss.

"And to the love that made them possible," she said before reclaiming his lips once more.

The End


End file.
